


Attack on a Christmas Carol

by ficbunnyKay



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Universe, Christmas, Gen, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, some gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:35:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28307622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficbunnyKay/pseuds/ficbunnyKay
Summary: On the night before Christmas (and Captain Levi's birthday), Eren is visited by four ghosts that aim to save him from himself.
Relationships: Furlan Church & Levi & Isabel Magnolia, Levi & Erwin Smith, Levi & Hange Zoë, Mikasa Ackerman & Armin Arlert & Eren Yeager, Sasha Blouse & Jean Kirstein & Connie Springer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Attack on a Christmas Carol

**Author's Note:**

> i threw this together in the past couple of days as part of my christmas celebrations. i deviated from canon just a bit in order to make this story more simple. also i have not read the manga although i've read summaries, so pls don't kill me if i screw something up. it's just a story, just for fun. also please note that while there's no violence in this story per se, there are a couple moderately graphic descriptions of gore. hope you enjoy!

_ “If I kill all of my enemies… then will I finally be free?”  _

My eyes snap open as a clock tower far away sounds midnight. I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night, but the cold, damp air that invades my bedroom tonight is especially arresting. I sit up in bed and wipe the sweat from my brow as I brush damp hair away from my eyes. 

I guess I’m letting it grow out. It’s not really important. Nothing of my body feels very important anymore, especially not since I learned the truth of this world and inherited the memories of my father. It’s been six months since then, and I’m watching my world around me collapse as I force my mind to pick up the pieces. The only thing I know in this world is that I don’t want to be trapped by any barriers, physical or otherwise. These walls in which I’ve been born are nothing more than a fence designed to imprison cattle. Even now, I don’t fully understand the scope of what enemies might be awaiting me when I venture away from Paradis, but whatever obstacles I find will be nothing to me. All resistance shall crumble in my wake. 

In the darkness, I stretch out the kinks in my shoulders. I think it’s Christmas tomorrow; or rather, today, since the clock has already struck midnight. The only reason I know that is because it overlaps with Captain Levi’s birthday, and I overheard Hange say something to him about it earlier today, or rather, yesterday. No gift exchange is planned, at least to the best of my knowledge. All noise like that fades into the background to me, now. All I can think about every day, every waking moment, is how twitchy and restless I feel. At the same time, I can feel myself growing more resigned to it every day. I’m slipping into some kind of awful isolating chasm, drifting away from all the people in my life, even Mikasa and Armin to some extent, and I don’t even care. I know I’m here for a reason, and anyone that gets in the way of whatever that reason is becomes nothing more than an insect to me, begging to be flattened. 

I’m about to lie down again when a small light flickers on past the foot of my bed, illuminating a shadowed figure, and I shout in surprise. His face is languid, his eyes glowing, and since I don’t immediately recognize him, I reach for the blade on my bedside table and turn it on him. But he doesn’t make a move for me, so I hesitate and don’t get out of bed. “Who the fuck are you, and how did you get in here?” I ask him. 

He turns his head to face me directly, and I notice the swish of longish chestnut hair, very similar to my own at this point. The flickering light turns out to be a candle, held in his lap with one hand. He’s sitting in a plain wooden chair-- what chair it is, I could not say, because there’s not been a chair in my bedroom before now. My pulse quickens as I feel the tendrils of recognition begin to tickle my brain. “I know you,” I say slowly. 

“Yes and no,” the man says, responding as if my statement had been a question. “A more accurate statement might be ‘I recognize you.’ Have you figured out yet where from, Eren?” 

The mention of my name pushes the final pieces of the puzzle into my place. “Eren Kruger.” Eren Kruger is dead. I shake my head. “I’m dreaming.” I put my blade back down on my nightstand and lie down with a thump, shutting my eyes. 

The covers are thrown off of me, exposing my skin to the frigid December air drifting in through a cracked window. I open my eyes again, expecting the apparition to have thrown my covers off, but Kruger still sits at the foot of my bed-- he hasn’t moved. “Unfortunately not, Eren,” he says.

I lazily pull my covers back on. “Yes, I am. This happens all the time. I’m always seeing dead people. I just have to lie back down, and then when I wake up, you’ll be gone.” 

Before I can shut my eyes, the covers throw themselves off once again, and I feel my body jolt itself into an upright seated position. “I’d love to entertain this, son, but I’m actually on borrowed time here.” He sets down his candlestick on… on nothing. It’s as if he places it on a shelf, but there is no shelf, and the candle simply hangs in the air as he stands and drifts to the side of my bed. “Pay attention,” he commands, and my neck snaps my head to face him. My entire body is stiff like a cadaver-- I can’t move. 

But I can speak. “You need to fuck off. I have to go back to sleep.” 

“On the contrary, you have to wake up, Eren. In more ways than one.” 

“Stop saying my name.” 

“It’s my name, too.” Kruger’s eyes seem to glow more brightly. 

“This isn’t real. I’m just sleep deprived and stressed and hallucinating or something. Or dreaming. You’re not actually here.” 

“Enough,” bellows Kruger. “Eren, I come to you tonight with a warning.” 

“Warning? What w-” My words are cut off by my lips snapping shut. I try to open them again, but it’s as if they’ve been fused together like melted wax. 

“You’re straying down a dangerous path. You’re letting your anger and ambition get the better of you. These things have disastrous consequences, son. And if you carry on like this, there’s no telling what may become of you.” 

He’s one to talk. The only reason I even have the Attack and Founding Titans is because of what this guy said to my father before I was born. 

It’s as if he can hear my thoughts. “It was too late for me. I ran out of time, and I needed to pass on the responsibility of the salvation of all Eldians to somebody else. But I see now that your father’s choices, and yours, are going to have disastrous consequences. You need to snap out of it, Eren.” Wind blows through the open window of my bedroom, accelerating to speeds rivaling that of a hurricane. My hair blows wildly around my head as my bedcovers are displaced-- the only reason my body doesn’t budge is because it’s being held stiffly to the bed by some invisible force. Kruger, oddly, is physically undisturbed by the wind. His voice takes on a haunted, rasping quality as he begins to speak-- it sounds like his words are coming from my own head. “On this night, Eren, you will be visited by three spirits. One of your past, one of your present, and one of your future. The first ghost will appear at 1 AM, the second at 3, and the third at 5. I pray that you will receive their message…” A bright light begins to crescendo in the room as if it’s coming from all directions at once. “...and be saved.” The light consumes everything in my vision, and at the last moment blocks out the face of Eren Kruger. The blustering wind stops abruptly and the brightness arrests into total black. My body goes limp and my head hits the pillow as I instantly fall into unconsciousness. 

I awaken at a single chime of a faraway bell. I groan and roll over, folding my pillow around my head to block out the noise, the world, everything. It’s a tremendously restless night. My dreams and nightmares can get very vivid and cause my sleep to be disturbed, but none so terrible as this last one. On the bright side, I’m now completely exhausted, so I think I should fall back asleep pretty easily. 

A very soft knock sounds from my bedroom door. I don’t know who the hell it is, but I figure that if I ignore it then they’ll just leave me alone and talk to me in the morning. I roll over in bed to face away from the door. 

Another knock, the same volume as the first. This time, I groan out, “I’m sleeping.” 

A young man’s voice answers, “I’m coming in, Eren.” 

The door opens slowly with a soft creak, and then quietly closes again. No light. Who is it? Armin? Jean? “Whatever it is, it can wait until morning,” I say. 

“No, Eren. Sorry.” The voice is standing over me, now. I have no choice but to roll over. “You could turn on the light,” the voice suggests. 

Irritable, I reach for the gas lamp on my bedside table and turn it on, letting the flame grow bright enough to illuminate the figure standing at my bedside. My breath catches in my throat as the kind eyes meet mine. “M-...” I groan. “I’m still dreaming.” 

He chuckles. “No. Not dreaming. Not dreaming before, and not now.” 

“You’re dead, Marco. You’re not here. I’m dreaming, and I need you to please leave me alone.” 

“I can’t, Eren. Please get up.” 

“Why don’t you just fucking possess me like Kruger did?” 

“I could,” he admits. “I’d rather you get up on your own, though.” 

I angrily kick at my bedcovers like an upset child, then sit up and look at Marco again. The light of my gas lamp illuminates his Training Corps uniform. No ODM gear. “Happy?” 

“Yes. Now, get out of bed. It’s time to go.” 

“Where?” I shake my head. “You know what? No. I might be sleepwalking if I get up. And if I sleepwalk and someone sees me, they’re going to strap me down or something.” 

“Don’t worry. No one will see you. They won’t see me either, or hear either of us. I’ll take care of it. Now, get up.” 

“No.” I’m getting frustrated, and my voice rises. “You’re dead, Marco! This isn’t real! I’m not going with you!” I pause. “You are dead, aren’t you? At least, you’re supposed to be?” 

“That’s right. That doesn’t mean this isn’t real, though, Eren. I’m really here.” 

“So, what, you’re a ghost? You’re obviously not a corpse. I saw you. This is not how you looked.” 

“Well, you’re right, I’m not a zombie. If thinking of me as a ghost helps, then sure. Whatever gets you out of bed.” 

“I’m not getting out of bed!” I shout forcefully. 

Marco’s soft smile fades and his eyes begin to radiate a white light. He reaches up with one hand to grab onto the side of his head by his hair and pulls. He effortlessly tears away the side of his face-- no blood pours from the wound, but the gray matter of his brain reminds me of custard escaping from a pastry. The horrible snapping sound of the bones and cartilage in his face accentuate the way his bright eyes cast shadows over the dark circles beneath and his slacked half-jaw. His next words are projected directly into my consciousness: “Don’t make me ask you again.” 

Though my mind is completely frozen in terror, my body moves on its own, clumsily uprooting itself from the covers and coming to stand just at the edge of my bed, but as far away from the bashed ghost of Marco Bodt as it can be. 

Once I’m standing, his transformation quickly reverses itself. He lifts the side of his face back up to what’s left of his head, and when the two halves make contact, they fuse seamlessly back together again. Marco cracks his knuckles as the glow fades from his eyes and his soft smile returns. I just stare and stare at him. “Cool, right?” he says, a distinct layer of bitterness evident in his words. “Really attention-getting. It’s for your own good, but please don’t make me do it again.” 

“I won’t,” I say immediately. 

“You don’t have to believe that this is real, if you don’t want to. Just play along. Alright?” 

I nod. 

“Good.” Marco holds out his hand. “Take my hand.” I do. “Now, close your eyes.” I do. A few seconds pass. “Alright, open them.” 

When I open my eyes, the sounds and smells of an active home kitchen fill my head. As my eyes adjust to the light in the room, I realize that I’m… in my old house. I’m back in Shiganshina.

I drop Marco’s hand and turn my head to look around. My father is sitting at our kitchen table, reading. A young version of myself is sitting on the floor of our living room with a young version of Mikasa. We’re playing some kind of hand game, and I’m watching myself get increasingly frustrated as I am time and again too slow to pull my hands away before Mikasa smacks them. 

Remarkably, I feel like Mikasa looks mostly the same. Sure, her hair is shorter now, and she’s taller and more muscular, but her face is almost exactly the same as it was when she was a child, or at least by the time I met her. Soft yet with a hard structure, reluctant to betray any emotions. Even as a child. It’s me that’s different. My face doesn’t look like that boy's anymore, at least I don’t think so. He has big, wide eyes and soft cheeks. His expressions twist around as he speaks, and his tiny body is even more vulnerable than his eyes. There’s something about him that makes me want to look away, but I can’t. 

“How old is he?” I ask. 

“Eight,” Marco answers calmly. 

“Why am I here, Marco?” 

“I wanted you to remember how you were before all hell broke loose. That’s all.” 

I nod. I manage to tear my eyes away from young Eren and I look sideways at Marco. “How long do I have to stay here?” 

“As long as it takes,” he says, then jerks his head toward the kitchen. “Look over there.” 

I crane my neck to look around Marco’s head. There’s a figure with long, dark hair tied to the side standing over a stove in a loose dress and apron. 

My chest tightens so much that I can’t breathe. “Oh,” I choke out. 

She turns her head so that I can see her face. She’s looking in my direction, but not directly at me-- past me, at that little kid on the floor with Mikasa. Her face is like his, but her eyes are mine. That’s just how they look when I stare at them in the mirror. Only… there’s something so beautiful about the light behind them. Nothing angry or savage; not like the light I know that infects my own eyes. That part is different. 

“Eren, would you come here and carry this pot to the table?” Her voice isn’t mine either. Her voice is no one’s but hers, and it’s just how I remember it. 

The boy on the floor stands up, pretending to be reluctant, but visibly eager to get away from a game in which he’s getting completely annihilated by Mikasa. His face is so pouting and small… did I really used to look like that? 

He takes a pot from his mother, and I can see the steam waft in front of his face as he breathes in. “Smells good,” he says. Not meant to be a compliment. Just a statement. 

She smiles. Just as he starts to turn away she reaches out her hand… 

and pinches his cheek. 

My breath catches. The boy grimaces. “Cut it out, Mom!” 

She giggles amusedly, but lets go. He dutifully places the pot at the center of the table, a few feet away from his father. He immediately goes right back to sit down with his sister. 

From the kitchen, his mother says, just barely loud enough for anyone in the small home to hear her, “That’s my big, strong boy.” 

Suddenly, I feel a thick, fat raindrop land on my collarbone exposed by my nightshirt. I look up. Just a ceiling there, but the movement of my head causes the skin of my face to brush against the still air, and I feel that cold wetness on my cheeks. I raise a hand and wipe at it. I’m crying. I hadn’t even noticed, and I don’t know for how long it’s been going on. 

I lift the collar of my shirt to dry off my face as I say, “Is this what you wanted, man?” 

Marco chuckles. “Not necessarily. But I think that we can both agree you’ve had enough. Of this bit, anyway.” 

“What does that mean?” I lower my shirt collar and look at his face. “Is there more?” 

Marco turns to meet my eyes, a very faint white glow present there, but no sign of the gore from earlier. “There’s always more.” 

Then, the room appears to be filling with darkness, like it would if it were being flooded with rainwater. The dark disappears my feet, then up to my hips, and as it ascends to my neck and is about to cut off my vision, the ground gives way beneath me; or rather, it’s as if there was never a ground there at all. I’m falling, but there’s no wind. It feels like I’m being sucked down a drain, in that when I try to scream, the sound is swallowed up by the dark. 

And yet, I can breathe. My feet hit the ground-- or rather, there is suddenly a ground beneath them; it doesn’t hurt my knees or ankles. Dank air fills my nostrils, and the faraway sounds of people in a town square fill my ears. Yet, the darkness doesn’t ebb. 

“You could open your eyes.” Marco is still next to me. Open my eyes? I do so. I didn’t even notice I’d closed them against the dark during the fall. The palms of my hands are also pressed hard to my ears, my fingers rooted painfully in my hair, put there to block out the lack of noise. I hadn’t noticed that, either. I let go and lower my arms, then look around. 

I don’t know where the hell I am. It looks like a run-down city was built in a sewer. There’s no natural light, so the darkness is only broken up by some street lamps and the lights of houses. Particularly, the house I stand in front of. ‘House’ might be a bit of a stretch. It’s one floor of a building, even smaller than my home in Shiganshina. 

“Where is this, Marco?” 

“Underground City.” 

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’ve never been here before. Why’d you bring me here?” 

“I thought you might be curious.” 

“About what?” 

“Just look.” He cocks his head in the direction of the window in front of us. 

“The curtains are drawn, Marco.” Right at that second, they fly open from the inside, revealing a young woman with bright auburn hair, a brighter smile, and even brighter eyes. The sudden movement startles me a bit, but she’s immediately retreating back into the room to two other people. I recognize one of them. “Holy shit. Is that…?” 

“Yep.” 

“Right. Yeah, I heard he grew up in the Underground City. Who are they?” 

“Farlan and Isabel. They died long before you joined the military.” 

“What are they doing right now?” 

“Quiet. Just watch.” 

And he means ‘just watch,’ because I can’t hear what’s happening in the house any more than if I were actually a physical person standing on the other side of a window, and not some inconceivable idea dragged here by the ghost of his dead friend. Captain Levi-- actually, just Levi at this point-- and the young man called Farlan are sitting on opposite sides of a round dining table. Levi polishes a sharp, silver knife. For some reason, I find this view of him incredibly disorienting. 

“How old is he?” 

“Twenty-one.” 

So almost a decade ago. “He looks exactly the same.” 

Marco shrugs. “I actually don’t think so. But you’re entitled to your opinion.” 

I have no idea what he means, so I just keep watching. The young woman called Isabel prances back into view, holding something in both hands that’s wrapped in brownish wax paper. She very energetically but very gently places it in front of Levi, then sits down next to him. She says something I can’t hear. He looks judgmentally at the bundle and puts down his knife to unwrap the paper. Inside is a glazed pastry with a reddish goo in the middle. He narrows his eyes at it, then at Isabel. Holding the pastry in one hand, he takes a bite, and roughly musses Isabel’s hair with the other. 

“What’s going on?” 

“It’s his birthday.” 

I nod. Suddenly, Levi looks right at me and says something I can’t hear. No, he’s looking at the window. But now I can see his eyes much more clearly, and I understand what Marco was talking about a few minutes ago. Yeah, his body and face haven’t aged much, but his eyes are like nothing I’ve ever seen from the Captain Levi I know. They’re festering with restless energy and a bold force of life. Of course, Captain Levi has seemed completely normal to me, but I now realize that the version of him I’ve known for the past year is so beaten down. Now that I think about it, I don’t know where his strength and perseverance comes from. It just manifests itself from nothing and carries his body forward. 

The Levi I see now is youthful, his face brightly shining despite its callous expression and the dim light of the Underground City. He’s pissed about something, too. Isabel silently stands and says something in protest. Levi shakes his head and utters a few words, then stands up, bringing his pastry with him. He approaches the window I stand in front of and holds the pastry in his mouth as he grabs the drapes with both hands and thrusts them shut again. 

I blink. “Is that it?” 

Marco nods. “Mm-hm.” He turns his body to face away from the window and I follow suit. “He’s a good man. I would’ve liked to know him.” 

That hurts. “I’m sorry.” 

Marco looks at me, not a hint of judgement in his eyes. “About what? You didn’t do anything.” 

I nod and look away. 

“Well, that’s all,” Marco says with a clasp of his hands. 

“What do you mean, that’s all?” 

“That’s all for me. My part is done now.” 

“Oh, okay.” I pause. “Can you put me back?” 

He laughs. “I kind of have to.” 

That crazy light crescendo starts happening again, from every direction at once. As it builds into blindingness, Marco says, “Remember-- expect your next visitor at three.” The light blocks out all vision and sound, and then, just as before, my body collapses as the world snaps into blackness and silence as I fall unconscious. 

I awaken with a start at the sound of three faraway chimes of a bell. I groan and sit up, resigned by now to what this night is proving itself to be: relentless. I turn on my gas lamp and pull away my covers in preparation for the next arrival. Each time this happens, it seems I am returned without fail to my bedroom in the same position I fell asleep in, with any disturbed parts of my room returned to their original arrangement. I’m finding it hard to believe that what’s happening is ‘real,’ though it sure does feel that way. All I know is that I feel frazzled, in the same way a person that’s just barely managed to outrun a pursuer feels frazzled once they’re behind a closed door. 

Two sharp knocks sound on my door. “Come in,” I say, getting out of bed. 

Through the door comes Commander Erwin. Unlike Marco, he looks exactly as he did the last time I saw him-- excruciatingly so. His face is drained of color and a gaping hole in his stomach is surrounded by dried blood on his white shirt. He’s in a full Scout uniform with ODM gear. I can only just barely tell, since the cape covers his shoulders, but he most certainly still has only one arm. 

“Hello, Eren,” he says, in his trademark deep and authoritative voice. 

Despite the deeply ingrained urge to tend toward militaristic obedience, I approach him casually and simply say, “Let’s get this over with.” 

Commander Erwin looks amused. “I didn’t expect you to be so eager.” 

“The sooner I go with you, the sooner I can get through these stupid visits and finally go back to sleep.” I silently add that I don’t want him to show me a repeat of Marco’s gore stunt. 

He chuckles very slightly. “Well, then you’ll be happy to know that what I have planned shouldn’t take a terribly long time.” 

“Do I have to take your hand?” 

“No. I need you to stick your hand in my stomach hole.” 

My eyes widen. “What?” 

He smiles halfway. “Kidding. Just give it a slow blink.” 

I sigh exasperatedly and shut my eyes. 

When I open them again, I’m still in mostly-darkness. Although, the stars and moon bleed just a bit of light through the windows of the home I find myself in. It reminds me somewhat of my home in Shiganshina, but a bit bigger, and outside of the windows I see not other houses, but grass and trees. 

From what I can see, there’s nothing terribly surprising about the house. A small kitchen, a bigger living room with furniture, a few used mugs and glasses scattered about. Not messy, not immaculately clean. 

“You should look around, I think,” says the Commander. 

I glance briefly at him, and then take tentative steps from where I am in the kitchen through the living room. This reveals a short hallway with three doors. The middle door is cracked-- a bathroom with the lights out. The door on the left is cracked-- an empty bedroom with a twin bed, covers prepared as if waiting for someone. The third door, the one on the right, is closed. I glance into the living room where Commander Erwin is standing, having silently followed me. He nods. “You can open it. They won’t know a thing.” 

I slowly and quietly turn the doorknob, despite being assured that no one can hear or see me. I tentatively step through the door and shut it behind me. It’s quite dark, but the window in this room directly faces the moon at the moment, so there’s just enough light for me to make out most things. The first thing I notice is the bed, with two figures under the covers: a man and a woman, both middle aged with chestnut hair starting to lean toward gray. I don’t recognize them. 

Looking around the room, there’s not much furniture. Just a partway open closet, a dresser, an old-looking upholstered chair in the corner, and a nightstand on either side of the bed. I approach the nightstand on the woman’s side. She and her husband both sleep soundly as I examine the objects on its surface. There’s a comb, a lip balm, and a portrait in a frame. That last thing is what I’m the most interested in. I can’t quite make out the figure, so I pick up the frame and angle it so that it is bathed in the moonlight of the window. Recognition hits me instantly. It may not be a photograph, like the one I found in my father’s books, and the subject may be much younger than how I know her now, but there’s no mistaking Sasha’s smile and mischievous eyes. 

She looks a lot how she did when I first met her in training. It’s a lot to take in, and now I know that these people are her parents. That bedroom down the hall used to be hers, and it’s still being kept ready for her return. I can’t think that she’s been back in this house since she enlisted, which means that they’ve kept this up for something like four years. 

It’s too much. I put the portrait back down, and I can’t help but catch a glimpse of the mother’s face. She doesn’t look terribly like Sasha, but she most certainly has her nose, and the shape of her chin and the nature of her hair are very similar as well. I feel painfully guilty as I look at her, but I can’t quite place exactly why. 

Figuring I’ve got the idea, and that I’ve seen what Commander Erwin wanted me to, I turn to leave the room. But when I walk through the doorway, I’m not in the same house anymore. I’ve been moved to a different house, and once again I’ve entered directly into the kitchen. And sure enough, there’s Commander Erwin standing on the other side of the room. He cocks his head to the right, beckoning me to approach and then go in that direction. 

I think that this house is even slightly bigger than the Brauss’s. At least, it seems just a bit nicer, or rather, neater and cleaner. In fact, if I’d just entered off the street, I might question whether the house was indeed occupied at the moment. 

There’s a door just by me, but I ignore it in favor of the one the Commander is beckoning me toward. I pass him and gingerly open the door just as I did a moment ago. 

This bedroom is a little smaller than the other one, but then again, there’s just one person in a twin bed instead of two in a queen. I follow the same procedure as I did before and go right for the dresser, but there’s nothing there that gives away this woman’s relations. I look at her face, but just as I do, she rolls over and faces away from me, her legs restless. 

I give a small frustrated sigh. Commander Erwin silently approaches next to me. “Who is she?” I ask. 

“You should recognize her. I believe you’ve met her once before.” 

“Well, I don’t. Please, could you just tell me?” 

“You’re being very rude, Eren. If you’re going to command her son to treat her better, you should probably be willing to at least make an effort with her now.” 

“Command her son…?” Now that she’s rolled back over to face me again, I look at her face again, more closely this time. That nose… “Oh, shit. That’s Jean’s mom.” 

“Congratulations.” 

I shake my head. “Commander, does she live alone?” 

“Yes, she does. Ever since her son enlisted in the military. Her son, who now is constantly risking his life on the front lines instead of residing safely in the interior as he promised he would. Risking his life… because of you.” 

“Because of me?” I say indignantly. “I didn’t force him. I am not the boss of him. He can do what he wants.” 

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way, Eren. Jean respects your willpower and your drive. He joined the Survey Corps because he wanted to mimic your bravery, despite the fact that all you do is rub him the wrong way. No, Eren.” He shakes his head. “That isn’t a bad thing at all. Jean is stronger and more honest with himself now because of the influence you had on him. But it also means that his life is in danger.  _ That’s _ what I’m trying to get you to think about. Of  _ course _ Jean is free to make his own decisions. But unlike you, he has living family members that don’t get to stick around to protect him, and who are completely helpless to change his fate. Your family-- Mikasa and Armin-- are with you. None of your family are held out of arm’s reach where you can’t get to them, and none of your living family are defenseless.” 

Commander Erwin’s words reverberate in my brain as I watch Jean’s mother. She is not sleeping soundly. She keeps tossing and turning, a disturbed look on her face. She lives alone in this house, her only son fighting a war that no one completely understands, being constantly put into situations that could kill him without a warning. 

Everyone knows I can’t stand that motherfucker. But something about seeing his mother… Jean still has the foundation I lost long ago. Not people he needs to avenge, but people he needs to protect. 

I sigh, and Commander Erwin seems to sense my resignation. “All right, soldier. You’ve had enough. Let’s give it another nice, slow blink.” 

I roll out my neck and close my eyes. When I open them, I’m surprised to find that I’m back in the Survey Corps’ current headquarters. At first, I think that I’m back in my own bedroom, before a figure stirs in the bed across the room. All the sleeping quarters look the same, I guess. As I approach the bed, the moonlight coming through the window seems to grow brighter and brighter, lighting up the whole room. Now, it is very clearly Armin who sleeps in front of me. ‘Sleeps’ might be a bit generous, actually-- he’s kicking around so much that I’d think he was being tortured if I didn’t know any better. He’s totally drenched in sweat, and it’s making his bangs stick to his forehead. 

Suddenly, his eyes fly open and he bolts upright, breathing heavily. His eyes dart around the room for a few seconds, then he blinks and lets out a big, deep breath. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve, but eventually gets too frustrated with the sweating and just takes his shirt off, using it to dry his neck and under his arms. Armin throws his shirt on the floor beside him and leans his head forward into his hands, very clearly making an effort to slow his breathing. Eventually, he deems his heart rate satisfactory, and lays back down with a thump. He grabs onto his pillow with both hands and rolls over onto his stomach, covering his head with the pillow. 

Well, now I know that Armin gets nightmares too. I can’t say I’m surprised. Frankly, what would be surprising is if anyone in the Survey Corps  _ didn’t _ get nightmares at least some of the time. Even though I’m not surprised, that was still a lot to watch. Granted, I’ve seen Armin looking worse. Much, much worse. But there’s just something about watching a person getting tortured by their own mind, right in front of you. I turn around, shaking my head in exhaustion. I brush past Erwin on my way out of Armin’s bedroom, but then, instead of entering into the hallway, I’m immediately in someone else’s bedroom. 

I know it’s Mikasa’s right away because there she is: on the floor, doing sit ups. I know she’s nuts with training, but this seems a little extreme. “Isn’t it, like, three in the morning?” I ask Commander Erwin, who I assume is somewhere right near me. 

From behind me: “Actually, it’s a bit past four now.” 

In front of me, hardly breaking a sweat, Mikasa switches to raised-leg push ups. She switches legs every five reps. “Does she always do this? Like, every night? Is it that she’s already awake, or has she not gone to sleep yet?” 

“It’s not every night. It’s pretty often, though. Sometimes, she gets restless and can’t sleep, so she does this to tire herself out.” 

“Oh.” As I keep watching Mikasa-- this girl I’ve known for most of my life-- I’m realizing she has a slightly different look on her face than usual. Different, even, from how she usually looks when working out. She looks tremendously tired, and her eyes are sharp as if she might even be in pain. I’ve never seen her look so exhausted. Usually, she just looks either neutral, pissed, or annoyingly concerned about me. But right now, she’s alone, and assumes everyone else in the building is asleep. I know her better than anyone, and yet there’s something so intimate about watching her while she thinks no one can see her. I don’t like this feeling, and I want to cut it off at the knees.

“Alright, what next?” I say, forcing myself to sound frustrated, when really I’m getting more and more anxious to see what the next thing is. 

“You know the way out,” Commander Erwin says. 

“Right.” I turn on my heel and walk through Mikasa’s bedroom door. Once again, I’m immediately in another bedroom instead of the hallway. I’m not sure right away whose it is, so I approach the bed, careful out of habit to keep my footsteps silent. I wouldn’t want to haunt anyone, or at least not anyone who didn’t deserve it. 

The bedroom is pretty dark-- darker than the first two-- but it’s pretty easy to tell that it’s Captain Levi lying there. No one else is that short and has that haircut. He’s flat on his back, head squarely in the middle of the pillow, with his arms out of the blanket and at his sides. He’s completely motionless but for the subtle rise and fall of his chest. 

So far, I’m not terribly surprised. His weirdly regimented way of sleeping is perfectly in line with his weirdly regimented way of living and cleaning. “He’s just asleep,” I whisper. “What’s so special about this?” 

“He’s not asleep,” Commander Erwin says. 

“He’s not? He looks asleep.” 

“No. He’s just pretending.” 

I narrow my eyes at Captain Levi. Now that I think of it, his face is weirdly still for a sleeping person. Specifically, his eyes don’t look like they’re moving under the lids. And it’s very odd that he doesn’t twitch. 

“He’s lucky to get three hours of interrupted sleep in a night,” says the Commander. “And if he doesn’t have any paperwork to do instead…” 

I nod. I’ll add that to the list of reasons why Captain Levi looks so cross all the time. I can imagine that getting so little sleep all the time would make you physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. So how is his head so clear? Where does he summon his strength from? How does he carry on with all of the deaths hanging over his head, and the new ones that are added all the time? 

Numbness, I’d guess. At least to some degree. 

“All right, soldier,” says the Commander. “That’s all I needed from you. You’re dismissed.” 

I look at him quizzically. “Aren’t you going to put me back?” 

“You’re in the building. Just go back to your bedroom and go to sleep.” 

I nod slowly, then quietly leave the room and shut the door behind me. Alone, and finally in the hallway this time, it suddenly occurs to me to ask Commander Erwin whether he resents us for choosing Armin over him. I turn back around and try to open the door, but it’s locked now. I sigh, and stand there beyond the door for a few seconds. Then, suddenly the door opens, and there’s Captain Levi standing in front of me. 

I don’t say anything, and he just stares at me with exhausted eyes for a few seconds before he says, “Is something the matter, Cadet Jaeger?” 

He can see me. He must have heard me try to open his door. I guess I’m back in the tangible world. “No, Captain. Um… I was just using the bathroom, but I lost my way going back to my room in the dark. I thought this was it.” 

He narrows his eyes at me, not believing me. Even so, he says, “All right, then. Well… If there’s nothing else, then I’m just going to go back to sleep.” 

“Yes, of course.” I nod, trying to appear as though I 100% believe him that he really is going to sleep, and not going back to pretending to sleep. 

But I’m weird, and far too enthusiastic, so he gives me a strange look, and shuts his door in my face in irritation. 

I sigh and trudge back to my room. Just now, Captain Levi looked as exhausted as I feel. When I get back to my room, I throw myself under the covers and shut my eyes. No wind, no flash of light, and sleep immediately claims me. 

For about forty-five minutes. 

I wake up again at the sound of the bell. I count the bongs: one, two… but before it can get to five I see a hooded figure standing right at the entrance to my bedroom. They wear a huge, loose black cloak that hides their entire body from me as well as their face. They’re completely motionless. 

Since it’s 5 AM now, there’s just barely enough twilight outside that I can see my room without turning on my gas lamp. I get up and cross to the hooded figure at my door. “You’re the future one, right?” I say. 

The ghost makes no response. 

“Who’s under there, anyway?” I raise my hand to move the figure’s hood, but my hand is arrested midair by an invisible force and jerked back down to my side. “Okay. Not a problem,” I say, feeling my heart rate start to pick up with fear. “Um… I’m ready when you are, I guess.” 

Right away, a breeze begins in my room that turns to a violent churning wind. Light crescendos and eliminates my view of the hooded figure. Bizarrely, I’m used to this phenomenon by now, and it doesn’t do anything to scare me. At least, not anything more than this demonic hooded ghost that is apparently my final visitor. 

The light decrescendos and I’m someplace entirely new, taking in daylight. Surely, I’ve not been here before, and it’s not any place that’s a part of Paradis. The buildings that line the street I’m standing in the middle of are very different from the ones I know in my homeland. They’re much taller, for one thing. They are different other than that, but I don’t know anything about architecture so I can’t really put my finger on it. 

There are some people around in the streets, but they’re all too far away for me to know whether I recognize them, anyway. It’s not as though I expect to recognize anyone in this odd place. The more I take in my surroundings, though, it is starting to ring a bell. My brain feels itchy with it. 

The hooded ghost is to my right. “Am I supposed to go anywhere specific?” I ask them. 

The ghost turns to me. Their face is completely shrouded in blackness. I’m beginning to wonder if there is even a face to be seen. They turn and start to walk toward a building along the street. ‘Walk’ is a bit generous-- even though they’re shrouded in a loose cloak, clearly it’s as if they’re dragging barely functional legs one after the other. Their torso also seems to lurch with each step. You’d think they had more broken bones than a person should be able to walk with. I guess ghosts aren’t inhibited by things like pain, though. 

I follow the ghost into a building with a very small ground floor, and then up a flight of stairs. If I thought the hobble was pronounced before, it’s almost excruciating to watch it going up a flight of stairs. The ghost’s movements are disjointed and impossible. I want to offer to help, but that would mean making physical contact with the ghost, which inexplicably terrifies me. 

The ghost leads me to a smallish room that holds Mikasa and Armin, as well as a young girl I don’t recognize. There’s a mid-sized table in the room at which sit several chairs, a few of which are positioned as though recently vacated. Armin is sitting on the floor, not gravely injured, but bruising and somewhat bloodied. Mikasa is standing next to him in tears. They’re both older. Mikasa’s hair is shorter, and both of their jawlines are sharper and their faces harder. 

I’ve never seen Mikasa cry like this, and I watch in fascination. At least, I don’t remember ever seeing her cry like this. People have told me that the first time I emerged from my Titan, she wailed like a child as she held onto my unconscious body. I don’t remember that at all, though, so this is a completely new experience. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was a creature living in her chest that suddenly decided to tear her heart into three pieces. 

And there’s the little girl. She looks restless, and not friendly with Armin and Mikasa. I’ve no idea who she is. “What’s going on?” I ask the ghost. Met with silence, I clarify my statement: “What’s going on that it’s Mikasa and Armin here, and no one else? And not me?” Again, silence. “Where am I during all this?” 

“Not here,” says the ghost in a woman’s voice. 

I’m alarmed. “Am I dead? Am I already dead by now?” 

“No. Worse.” The ghost pauses. “You left.” 

The ghost’s voice sounds incredibly familiar. I’m pretty sure I recognize it, but I don’t want to acknowledge it, so I shove it out of my mind. “Where did I go?” 

“Off to do your own thing.” 

“Did anyone go with me?” 

“No one you know now.” 

“What happened?” 

“Nothing that you could understand at the moment.” 

I stare at the scene playing out in front of me. “Did I do this? Is Mikasa crying because of me?” 

“Yes, I’d say so.” 

“And Armin…” I don’t wait for a reply. “I don’t understand. How did this happen?” 

“It’s a long story.” The ghost pauses. “The short version is that you completely forgot who you are. You’re already on such a dangerous path. You’ve been for so long. And you’re forgetting why you wanted to see the outside world, and what it was that first motivated you to fight your enemies. Protection, Eren. And love.” 

When the ghost says my name, I can deny it no longer that I know exactly who is under that hood with the broken legs and twisted back. I still don’t want to say it out loud. “But this isn’t real. This hasn’t happened yet. What am I going to do? Am I going to betray someone? Am I going to kill one of my friends? I won’t do it. I just won’t do it. Just tell me what it is I did that was so wrong and I won’t do it. I swear.” 

“It’s not any one thing, Eren. It’s your mindset. You’re filled with so much anger, Eren. Some anger is good, but too much is like poison. You wouldn’t be alive without your rage, Eren, but it’s also what’s going to kill you if you aren’t careful. Worse than kill you. Take you apart at the seams and leave you unrecognizable.” 

My mother takes off her hood, and it’s not the version of her that Marco showed me earlier tonight. Yes, her face is unscathed, but if her cloak fell I would see her mangled body looking just like it did on that day, with her crushed legs and broken back being lifted into the mouth of the Smiling Titan. Dina. More than any of this, she’s looking right at me. She can see me, and she’s talking to me, and I could reach out and touch her if I weren’t so terrified of hurting her or myself. 

My pulse quickens, my face feels hot, and I grow completely frantic. “Mom, I don’t understand what’s going on, but I don’t want any of this to happen.” My words are starting to choke. “What am I doing wrong? Please, just tell me what I need to do. I’ll do anything, Mom. Please, just tell me.” 

“I need you not to forget, Eren.” 

“Forget what?” 

“Forget who you are. Forget where and who you came from. Forget that  _ you’re enough _ . I need you to remember why you’re here, Eren.” 

“Why am I here?” 

My mother’s eyes glow, the human quality draining out of them. There, in the room, Armin stands and he and Mikasa turn to face me. Not past me-- directly towards me. Mikasa’s face is still wet with tears, but they’ve stopped falling. Armin’s face is still bloody, but it’s stopped bleeding, and all of the emotion has left both of their faces. They’re like demonic wild animals spotting me on their terrain. They, my mother, and the young girl I don’t know all speak in unison, their voices projecting directly into my brain and overwhelming all other thoughts. 

_ “Because you were born into this world.” _

My head starts to spin as the figures approach me. 

“Don’t let your ambition take over your life, Eren,” says the young girl, directly into my head. 

“Don’t abandon me outside the walls,” says Armin. 

“Don’t leave me to clean up your messes,” says Mikasa. 

“You’ll flatten the entire world if you don’t keep your head on straight,” says my mother, her broken legs lurching her body toward me. 

The all-too-familiar light starts to seep in from the windows, and from the eyes of the four people who have now almost reached me as I stand with my back against the wall. They speak in unison again, their impossibly loud voices threatening to make my ears bleed:

_ “Keep your head on straight, Eren, and above all…” _

The piercing light grows painfully bright, but I force my eyes to stay open. 

“Give your heart,” says the girl. 

“Give your heart,” says Armin. 

“Give your heart,” says Mikasa. 

“Give your heart,” says my mother. 

The final words sound in my ears as the light blocks out my vision: 

_ “For the good of humanity.” _

I jolt upright in bed, trembling and drenched in sweat. Sunlight seeps in through my bedroom window. The night is over. 

I cry out in relief, throwing my head into my hands. The night is over. No more visitors, no more wind, no more blinding light. No more ghosts of my past in all their glory and gore, refusing to let their souls rest. 

As I adjust to daylight and wakefulness, my pulse slows and the sweat dries. In their place, an incredible enlightened calm washes over me. In this new feeling, it’s as if I’ve just had the best sleep I’ve gotten in a decade. 

Suddenly, I’m incredibly anxious to see my fellow soldiers. I dress quickly and make my way out into the common area we’ve been using as a dining area. 

Everyone else is already awake. Captain Levi and Commander Hanji are sitting at the table, but everyone else is on their feet. Sasha spots me immediately from across the room and charges over to me. Without a word, she crams a Santa hat onto my head, pushing the brim down almost to my eyebrows, and then goes back to whatever she was just doing with Connie and Jean. Her face is so bright and impossibly joyful, just like the image of her trapped in the portrait on her mother’s nightstand. I wonder if she knows that it’s there. 

Armin spies me from across the room and says, “Morning, Eren. Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas,” I say back. I wordlessly approach him and Mikasa. They look at me, waiting for me to say more things, I guess. I watch their faces. Unbeknownst to them, I’ve just seen them tonight, and Mikasa years ago, and both of them years from now. Or, at least I dreamt I did. In the cold light of day, I don’t know what to make of it anymore. I just feel weird. 

I put one arm around each of their backs and pull them into my chest. Armin laughs nervously. “Are you alright, Eren?” 

I don’t answer him. I can see behind them now, where Jean, Connie, and Sasha are goofing off. “I’m so sorry,” I say to the three of them.

They look at me in varying degrees of concern and annoyance. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Jean says. “What did you do?” 

“I don’t know,” I say. 

“Eren, you’re not making any sense,” says Sasha. 

“He’s just experiencing an adolescent phase,” Hanji says from the other side of the room. 

I sigh frustratedly and release Armin and Mikasa from my embrace. Mikasa is gravely concerned. “Eren, are you dehydrated?” 

I suppose my behavior is a bit strange. “No, I’m fine. I feel great. Better than ever.” I turn to the dining table. “Happy birthday, Captain Levi.” 

“Another year of killing Titans and taking shits, down the drain,” he says flatly. 

“Hear, hear!” Hanji shouts, and she and Levi clink their teacups together. 

Well, I definitely feel better now. I don’t know what to make of that crazy dream I had last night. It felt so real, but no one will ever believe me if I tell them. Or worse, they’ll think I’m crazy and lock me in the basement. No, I’ll just keep it to myself and try to remember. 

And I’ll do my best to continue the legacy of my fallen comrades and family. 

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you guys thought! i sure had fun writing this. happy holidays, everyone!


End file.
